


The Tie That Binds

by PansexualAlienMothership



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Hanzo not knowing how to deal with emotions, Jesse McCree being a hopelessly in love doof, M/M, Pining Hanzo, Romance, There's a lot going on here honestly, Young Hanzo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7809331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PansexualAlienMothership/pseuds/PansexualAlienMothership
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After joining Overwatch to find redemption for himself, Hanzo still refuses to accept that his younger brother isn't dead. At the same time, he tries to help himself overcome a deep depression and sense of self-loss. He begins to find that perhaps other people aren't the enemy after all. Between remembering his childhood and coming to terms with what he's done, the difficulties are numerous. Hanzo strives to find who he is with a bit of help and begins to wonder if his life has been a lie was made up for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leftforbed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftforbed/gifts).



_Hanzo could feel the soft sunlight against his face, coming through the window. It’s morning. The cicadas are chirping in the trees, and he’d recognize their song anywhere. It’s not a song the he’s heard in a very long time. It’s unmistakable where he is.  
  
            He opens his eyes. The early morning sunlight streams through the screened windows and onto the tatami floor of his room. His childhood room in Hanamura. It takes a few blinks before he’s adjusted his eyes, seeing the silken sheets of his futon between his fingers. The walls of his room are clean, neat, and pristine. His clothes are all put away neatly in the closet in the corner. It looks very unlike the room of a thirteen-year-old boy. The only decorations he’s been allowed are classic decorations. A large, hand-painted akomeogi hangs on a stand near his closet. A katana sits on a cherry wood shelf, sheathed, constantly polished and glimmering. Of course, that was for decoration. He’d never used it, and he thought he never would.  
  
            He turns to the painted shoji, covered in sakura blossoms and winding dragons that separate his room from Genji’s. He takes a deep breath, creeping across the flooring as silently as he can. He slides the door with a shaking hand, peeking into the room that looks exactly the opposite of his. Clothes are strewn about the floor and posters from games and movies are taped on the walls. In the messy futon, his little brother sleeps still, his black hair mussed against his head. The sunlight filtering into his room irritates the younger Shimada enough to make him rub his eyes.  
  
            “Hanzo, it’s too early. Why are you awake?” the ten-year-old whines angrily. Genji has never been a morning person. Hanzo stands there quietly, stepping forward, towards Genji.  
“What are you doing, Hanzo?” he mumbles, his eyes full of sleep. Hanzo’s mouth feels dry, and he doesn’t speak until his arms are around Genji. Genji doesn’t speak either, but he hugs Hanzo back all the same. Both of them sit there in the quiet morning, two dragon siblings intertwined.  
_  
\-------------------  
  
            Hanzo opens his eyes with a sharp intake of air, shooting straight up in the bed. There are no cicadas, no sunlight, no tatami floors, and no Genji.  
  
            He sits quietly, trying to remind himself why he came here in the first place. He’s at an Overwatch facility, Watchpoint Gibralter. He’s been given his own room, his own accommodations, everything. It’s only been a week, and he’s not exactly an official member of the newly revived Overwatch yet. Still, everyone is being friendly to him. Even if he doesn’t speak much and he’s only known as “Genji-san’s brother” by most of them, they’re friendly. The thing that they’ve been calling Genji is currently away. It has gone back to Nepal for something, and whatever that something is, Hanzo could not care less. That is _not_ his brother. He killed Genji. He took Genji’s life over a stupid, stupid thing, and the Genji he knew is gone. However many times that Doctor Ziegler tells Hanzo that it really is his brother, he won’t accept it. She’s the only one he doesn’t trust at all.  
  
            Hanzo splashes water on his face in the small bathroom sink and dresses himself. It’s 5:00 a.m. according to the tiny alarm clock on his bedside table. He has enough time to practice at the shooting range before anyone else wakes up. Old habits die hard, he thinks to himself as he grabs his bow. He makes sure the string is taut, just like he likes it. Callouses on his fingers are a telltale that he’s been an archer since he could walk. He’s always preferred archery to any other combat strategy. It came naturally to him, but then again, what didn’t?  
  
            With a silent, sneaking walk, Hanzo treads to the range, which is set up with various targets. It’s not like he needs practice, but it’s something to take his mind off of that dream. No, to take his mind off of that _memory_. He doesn’t want to think about Genji. Genji is dead. He’s forcing the thoughts out of his head as he types in a quick code to access the range. He steps in silently as the sliding metal door closes behind him. He’s shocked at what he sees. Standing at a distance from the targets is The Cowman. He’s never spoken to The Cowman, because the tanned man seems more like someone that Genji would associate with. He drinks, he smokes, he tells crude jokes, and he’s always too cocky for his own good. Hanzo’s grip on his bow tightens, but he stays quiet.  
  
            _“It’s too early. Why are you awake?”_  
  
            The words thrum in Hanzo’s ears and he has to stop himself from speaking them aloud. Before he can shove them away and suggest that The Cowman shoot or get out, six loud shots ring out. The noise is enough to startle Hanzo and make him bristle.  
  
            “Well, damn it… Only five bullseyes,” the thick southern accent drawls out of The Cowman’s mouth. He turns, probably to leave; instead of greeting Hanzo, he pulls his gun. Hanzo is just as quick to have an arrow aimed. The Cowman lowers his weapon, breathing a sigh and rubbing his tawny face.  
  
            “Jeez, it’s just you… The other Shimada brother, right? You scared me within an inch of my life! Ya can’t just go creepin’ up on people like that,” he says, like he’s scolding a child. Hanzo does not take that well.  
  
            “I am the only Shimada brother, thank you. Besides that, I expected the range to be empty at this hour,” Hanzo tells the other man with a sour look. The Cowman looks confused by his statement, but Hanzo will not retract what he says.  
  
            “W-well, uh. I was just gettin’ on my way, actuall—“  
  
            “I do not care,” Hanzo interrupts, putting a hand up. “Your actions do not interest me. You are that… Thing’s friend. The thing that is impersonating my dead brother. You are its friend, not my friend,” Hanzo finishes, his eyes cold. The Cowman looks shocked, but not deterred. He holds out a hand.  
  
            “Then let’s be friends, uh… Hanzo! Yeah, let’s be friends. Now, I know that it was a uh, little bit of a rough start,” the wild-haired, wild-eyed man chuckles, rubbing his head with his robotic arm. This is the first time that Hanzo has noticed that. He takes note.  
  
            “You spoke Chinese to me when you met me. Miss Zhou had to explain to you that I was Japanese,” Hanzo grumbles bitterly, crossing his arms. “And I do not even know your name. Something stupid, I’m sure.”  
  
            The Cowman’s charming smile nearly cracks because of the insult, but he’s still not entirely deterred. “It’s Jesse. Jesse McCree,” he said with a hint of pride. Hanzo is still not impressed. He simply makes another face.  
  
            Taking the hint, McCree retracts his hand. “Uh… Anyway, I’ll leave you. Happy shooting,” he sighs, seemingly defeated. For now at least, Hanzo thinks to himself as he steps up, alone with his thoughts again.  
  
  
\------------------------  
  
            Much later, after disappearing for most of the day, Hanzo eats lunch by himself. He waits until everyone else is done eating before he pulls out a small bento that he’d made earlier in the week. He’s content with his simple lunch of white, steamed rice, vegetables, and a few pieces of tuna that he managed to find in the industrial-sized freezer. He even made a small treat for himself: three jam-filled mochi. He’d definitely prefer if the filling was anko, but American jam is fine as well. It’s strawberry too, which is his favorite type.  
  
            After finishing his bento, he takes out the bowl of sticky little treats, taking a bite out of one. A small, almost-smile comes to his face. It reminds him of when he was a child. He’d never tell anyone, but his sweet tooth had followed him far into adulthood.  
  
            He’s interrupted when McCree walks in. “Whassat?” the imbecile asks.  
  
            Hanzo pretends that he didn’t hear him. Maybe he’s like some dumb animal. If he ignores him, maybe he’ll go away. No luck. McCree still stares, expecting some sort of reply.  
  
            “You wouldn’t like it,” Hanzo simply says, holding his head high. He takes another bite of his mochi treat, finishing it off. Two left now. He picks up the next one. McCree is still standing there.  
  
            “Maybe I could be the judge of that,” McCree suggests with a smile. Hanzo cringes and takes a bite of his second mochi. He knows that this uneducated oaf is probably going to spit his favorite treat and make an even bigger idiot out of himself. Why is he so determined now to be friends with Hanzo?  
  
            Hanzo finishes the second mochi. One more now. McCree’s eyes catch the archer’s. They’re beautiful, like an amber brown mix. They’re soft and gentle. They almost make him gasp, but he doesn’t. He sighs gently, letting out a held breath. Without a word, he hands McCree the last mochi. Now he has none. McCree takes a bite, gingerly, his face contorted a bit. Then, his features even out. Why does that soothe Hanzo’s nerves? Why was he nervous to begin with? He has nothing to be nervous about!  
  
            “Did you make this?” McCree asks softly, his lips curved up in a soft smile. Hanzo only nods slowly. McCree shakes his head and laughs.  
  
            “I really like it! It’s interesting. What’s it called?” McCree asks. He’s like an eager child, ready to impress. Ready to impress whom? And why? Hanzo wonders. No one needs to care about Hanzo. He joined Overwatch to reclaim himself, not to be praised by others. This was for him. No one else.  
  
            “Mochi,” he replies, holding every emotion inside. His face is as stoic as ever. He suddenly feels vulnerable. He doesn’t want to speak anymore. He’s not here to make friends. He’s a caged animal. He can’t breathe, his chest tightening. The gentle look on McCree’s face doesn’t help.  
  
            “What’s it made out o—“  
  
            “I have to go,” Hanzo breathes, practically stumbling away. He feels weak. His ears are ringing as he walks back to his bunk. He can hear McCree’s voice, no, The Cowman. He’s The Cowman… He can hear his voice distantly. It’s like an annoying fly buzzing. Are you okay? You look pale. Can I help you?  
  
            Hanzo ignores it all as he rushes back to his room. He sees no one else, and he’s glad for that. He types in his keycode quickly, making sure to reinstate the locks on the doors. He slumps against his bed, shaking. He really has no idea why he’s acting like this. He has no idea what’s caused this episode, but he knows that it’s happened before. Only one thing helps. He reaches into the drawer of his nightstand, pulling out sake.  
  
            He’ll have the bottle done before dinner, and there’s no one but his own guilt to stop him.  
  
\--------------------  
  
            _“You can’t tell anyone, Genji,” seventeen-year-old Hanzo pleads with his fourteen-year-old brother after being caught with the son of one of his father’s colleagues. The fear in his eyes is obvious. He thought he was being discreet. After all, Genji never came to the gardens. But now, of all the times, his little shit of a brother had to see him with another boy’s tongue down his throat._  
  
_Genji considers, crossing his arms. As of late, the two were feuding over anything and everything. His chocolate brown eyes glimmer mischievously. He could blackmail Hanzo. Half of his allowance, no, no, his whole allowance, AND some daifuku from the sweets shop down the street! His mind is going in a thousand different boyish directions._  
  
_“Please, Genji… Please, don’t… Father will disown me….” Hanzo begs, on the verge of tears. The idea of his older brother crying suddenly wakes Genji from his daydreams about how many arcade games he could play with TWO allowances. He’s shaken. He’s never seen Hanzo this scared before. He’s frozen, his own eyes filling with tears. He can’t believe he thought of ratting out his brother. After all, that’s what they were. They were brothers. Brothers stuck together._  
  
_“I-I’m not gonna tell anyone, st-stupid!” Genji manages, swiping at tears that are involuntarily running down his face. He can’t believe he’s crying in front of Hanzo. He’s always known that Hanzo had little interest in women, but he never thought much about it until now. “You’re my brother. I can keep your secret,” Genji tells Hanzo._  
  
_Hanzo nods slowly, brushing his hair out of his face. Genji’s jealous of Hanzo’s pretty face. He’s beautiful and delicate-looking. He looks like father, Genji thinks to himself. Hanzo’s hair is beautiful too. It’s long and silky, and it’s the color of black ink. It grows at an impossible speed. Long hair isn’t flattering on Genji. He tried it, but it just made him look even more like a baby than he did before._  
  
_Hanzo’s words shake him from his thoughts of envy. “Let’s go get some daifuku, yeah? I’m paying…” he says quietly, his hand held out to Genji. Genji, even the fiery teenager that he is, takes his older brother’s hand in agreement. He won’t ever tell Hanzo’s secret, he thinks. He’ll protect his brother as best as he can. It’s the least he can do._


	2. Chapter 2

            _Nine-year-old Hanzo hits three bullseyes out of five during archery practice, in front of his father. The small boy gives a prideful grin, looking at his stern father for approval._  


_“That’s not good enough, Hanzo!” the Shimada clan master barks, breaking Hanzo’s heart in five words. He wants to argue, he wants to say that he tried his very hardest, but it’s not going to be of any benefit to him.  
  
            “I’ll do better,” the young Shimada heir says, his smile turning back into a thin frown. His father nods as Hanzo collects the arrows from their marks. Six-year-old Genji is still learning to even hold a bow properly. He is given no harsh words or raps on the legs like Hanzo was at that age. It embitters the older brother, but he doesn’t dare say that. Genji is the favorite. He has been the favorite since he was born.  
  
            Anger and hurt gives Hanzo what he needs to hit five bullseyes, each no more than two minutes apart. This earns an approving nod from his father.  
  
            “Better,” he says, his dark eyes looking at Hanzo with little love. Hanzo is used to this, even at his young age. Their father is as harsh on his older son as he is on his colleagues and employees; only Hanzo wears silks, eats fine foods, and has the best educators in the world.  
  
            Genji complains, “My fingers hurt, Papa.”  
  
                        The boys’ father nods, deciding to comply with Genji’s complaints. “I believe that is enough practice for today then. Hanzo! Collect the arrows and come on. Have you finished your studies for today?”  
  
            Hanzo collects the arrows, almost forgetting to speak. “Yes, Father. My work is done, by room is clean, and I read for an hour today,” he replies, hoping that his father will give him some free time. Maybe he’ll walk around the gardens and feed the koi. Maybe he’ll write some. The possibilities are endless. Well, no, they’re not. He’s confined to his home and practice range at the moment, due to threats on his life from an enemy of his father’s.  
  
            “Very good, little wolf,” his father finally praises Hanzo, using his favorite nickname, his stern face breaking into a gentle smile. Hanzo beams. Genji interrupts his thoughts by taking his hand. His younger brother is always clingy and whiny after combat practice. Hanzo looks down at him. “What?” he asks quietly.  
  
            Genji only makes a grumpy noise. He wants his older brother to carry him. Hanzo halts for only a moment, picking his sibling up and carrying him, walking beside his father hurriedly to keep up with the man’s long strides. The extra weight slows him down, but he’s determined to prove that he’s strong. As much as he envies his brother having his father’s favor, he reminds himself that it isn’t Genji’s fault, not really. Genji looks like their mother looked, so it’s easy to see why their father would be gentle on him. The younger Shimada brother also has his late mother’s gentle, playful soul. He loves animals, and animals love him. Even when he’s being goofy, he has an elegant, refined glow to him. Hanzo can understand why people would prefer playful, happy Genji to quiet, private Hanzo. It’s an easy pick.  
  
            Genji is asleep by the time Hanzo’s carried him back to the gardens of their home. He lays his brother down gently on the stone bench, then he sits in the groomed grass beside him. His father continues inside. He has no reason to worry or watch the children; his hired guards will do that. Hanzo knows that even when he can’t feel eyes on him, he’s being watched.  
  
            At the moment, he feels free, though. He brushes some of Genji’s hair out of his face, kissing his forehead. “You are so much like mother, little brother…” he murmurs, smiling. As much as having a sibling can annoy him, he loves his brother. He knows how safe Genji feels around him. He should feel safe, Hanzo thinks. After all, even a little wolf must protect its pack.  
  
_ \------------------------  
  
            It’s three days after Hanzo fled McCree’s presence that he’s finally seen again. No one really questions it. They know that Hanzo is a fairly private person. Given the fact that everyone knows nearly nothing about him, they assume that the disappearing incidents are some of his many quirks. Still, it doesn’t stop anyone from being kind to him.  
  
            “Ah, my friend!” Reinhardt bellows as Hanzo walks into the dining hall. Hanzo cringes slightly. This man is so loud, even if he is a nice person. Apparently, he’s made breakfast this morning. It looks more like a feast for a whole country than a breakfast for ten people, tops. The German has made eggs, hotcakes, sausages, grits, gravy, bacon, and coffee. Though it all looks very good, Hanzo doesn’t think he can eat that much of it. He also prefers tea to coffee, but Reinhardt pours him a cup as soon as he’s seated. He looks to his left. Winston is on that side, quietly reading a newspaper. On his right is McCree, stuffing his face with everything he can. No one speaks to Hanzo, but they chat amongst each other. Finally, Angela Ziegler, or Mercy, as they call her, speaks to the Shimada brother.  
  
            “Are you feeling alright this morning, Hanzo?” her crystal-clear, barely accented voice asks. Hanzo can’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance. He doesn’t like her, and he doesn’t want her speaking to him. He nods once, deciding that should suffice. It doesn’t.  
  
            “Jesse said that he was concerned about you. He was wondering if you had a fever,” Mercy continued, grating on the archer’s nerves. Hanzo feigned ignorance.  
  
            “Who?” Hanzo sneers, looking up from his untouched black coffee. McCree looks up, waving a hand slightly. Right, his first name _is_ Jesse, Hanzo thinks to himself.  
  
            “I’m fine,” Hanzo reiterates, shooting a poison glare at McCree. Yet again, the idiot doesn’t seem to take the hint. He simply shrugs with a dumb grin on his face. Hanzo grips his mug of coffee tightly in response. This man is as aggravating as they come. Now, because of this, the eyes of the entire table are on him. The attention makes him rigid and defensive.  
  
            “Only making sure, you know,” Mercy said, pausing slightly. “We don’t want illness within the base. If you are feeling poorly, make sure you tell me as soon as possible.”  
  
            “Yeah, spreads quick!” Lena Oxton, codename Tracer, agrees. Mei-Ling Zhou nods as well, trying to ease the tension. The tension is still there, but it’s not cloying and thick like it was. Now, the thick and cloying is the smell of McCree’s cologne. Hanzo covers his mouth slightly, passing it off as chewing food. He clears his throat a moment later, trying to put on a pleasant façade.  
  
            “I have not been sick since I was young,” Hanzo says, a slight chuckle breaking out. Mercy nods once.  
  
            “Impressive! It’s my goal to keep everyone healthy,” she says, her chipper mood making Hanzo feel even more uncomfortable. He simply nods. He doesn’t want a feud right now, not with the doctor. However, his is rather enraged by the fact that the idiot cowboy has been talking about him without his knowledge.  
  
            He watches McCree with a slight glare while he’s eating. What does everyone find so endearing about this idiot? All of them want to talk to him. He’s what a teenager would call “popular.” But, this isn’t a schoolyard and Hanzo is not a teenager. From the way McCree acts, one would think that he was a teenager. Maybe if he shaved some of that wild facial hair, Hanzo thinks. Maybe then he would look like a younger man.  
  
            After breakfast, McCree is one of the last to leave. Hanzo corners him in the hallway, fists clenched. He wants to make it obvious that he’s furious. The cowboy is oblivious.  
  
            “Howdy, Hanzo,” he says with a smile.  
  
            Hanzo’s breath catches. Maybe there is something to the way everyone wants attention from McCree. He’s handsome when he smiles. It’s not that shit-eating smirk; it’s a genuine smile. His teeth are somewhat yellowed, but Hanzo knows that he smokes. He drinks coffee as well; he had three cups of the sludge that Reinhardt made this morning. He has one crooked canine too, a trait that Hanzo can’t help but find almost attractive. It’s different. It’s unique. All of McCree is unique. His skin is a soft, tawny color. Underneath that moronic hat, he has a dusting of faint freckles across his nose and cheeks. They make him look more boyish. Maybe that’s why he’s trying to hide them, Hanzo mentally suggests to himself. He has to remind himself to be angry.  
  
            “Why would you tell the doctor that you thought I was ill? Do you think me a fool? If I had been ill, I would have told someone. I’m not some stupid child who does not know better than to let himself stay sick,” Hanzo snaps.  
  
            “Jus’ thought maybe you weren’t feelin’ too well, what with you leavin’ in a rush,” McCree mumbles, the harshness that Hanzo is delivering seeming not to bother him. That just makes Hanzo angrier.  
  
            “I do not need you in my personal business. You are not my babysitter, and I am most certainly _not_ a child. Is this clear?” Hanzo jabs his finger into McCree’s chest.  
  
            McCree rubs the spot, grimacing. “I gotcha, I gotcha. I was jus’ worried ‘bout ya, that’s all.”  
  
            Hanzo decides to ask the ten million dollar question.  
  
            “Why?”  
  
            The question makes McCree pause. He rubs his chin slightly, his brows knitting together. “Dunno. Because I care about you, I guess. We’re all part of Overwatch now. We’re like a big family. We take care of each other. We worry about each other. It’s just what we do, yeah? I mean, if we didn’t, this whole thing just wouldn’t work like it does. We have a duty to care about each other. I mean, listen, I know things have been hard for you, what with coming here. I mean, assassins after you all the time too… Having to leave your home, now that’s a real kicker… Then that whole thing with Genji has to be really difficul—“  
  
            “Stop!” Hanzo yells suddenly, shaking his head. “You have no idea! You have no clue what it feels like to lose someone so close to you! You could never know! He was my brother! Now, I see him again, I know he’s alive, but he’s different!” Hanzo’s voice cracks. He looks away. “He isn’t himself. He’s… Something else.”  
  
McCree stops and blinks, looking taken aback. After a long pause, he licks his lips.  
“I uh… Hanzo, you may not believe me, but I do know how that feels. I do. And that’s why I care, okay? I care because I’ve been there. I… I can’t explain it in full right now, but I will. If you want to know, I’ll explain it to you later. Please, just… Just believe me when I say that I do care about your problems. You can talk to me.”  
  
            Hanzo stares at McCree with a blank look. Staring into those pretty, amber eyes makes Hanzo feel like he’s safe. It makes him believe every word the cowboy is saying. Even if he doesn’t particularly want to believe him, he does. What reason does the man have to lie to him? He has nothing to gain. Hanzo is no longer wealthy or influential. Of course, he’s always believed that people don’t do anything unless it has personal gain to it. But, what could McCree gain?  
  
            Hanzo clears his throat. “Thank you, McCree,” he says, nodding. He walks away before McCree can say anything else, deciding take a walk outside. Perhaps the sea air will clear his head. He can feel McCree’s gaze on him as he walks away, but it doesn’t bother him now.  
  
\------------------------  
  
            Two days later, the incident with McCree is still fresh in Hanzo’s head. However, the thing that uses Genji’s name has returned, bringing an omnic monk with him. Everyone is greeting him at lunch hour, asking him about his travels. They’re all excited and pleased to meet Tekhartha Zenyatta. Hanzo is the only one who ignores everything for the sake of his lunch. McCree sits back down beside Hanzo, silently working away at a BLT and potato chips. Hanzo is fine with this; he feels more comfortable with McCree than he did before. He’s made another bento for lunch today, and as before, McCree seems curious.  
  
            “Whazzat?” the cowboy asks, pieces of chips flying out as he speaks. Disgusting, but… Attractive, somehow.  
  
            “It’s my bento,” Hanzo tells him, barely looking up.  
  
            “Well yeah, but what’s in it?” McCree snorted.  
  
            Hanzo hummed slightly. “Steamed white rice. The little triangles are onigiri. Rice, wrapped in seaweed. This is a piece of salted salmon, here. These little beans, they’re edamame. Then, some asparagus, and some more mochi,” Hanzo explains the whole dish. McCree nods, hanging on to every word that Hanzo is saying.  
  
            “Could I try one of the… The…. Oni…. On—“  
           

            “Onigiri,” Hanzo said for him.  
  
            “A-ah, yeah. Can I?”  
  
            Hanzo gives him the small rice ball, staring at the cowboy. McCree eats it without hesitation, giving a nod of approval.  
  
            “Gooh!” he says, his mouth full. Still disgusting, still attractive somehow. Did no one teach him manners as a boy?  
  
            “I’m glad that you like my food,” Hanzo confesses, handing him one of the mochi without hesitation. McCree’s eyes light up slightly.  
  
            “Yeah, of course! It’s something different, ya know? See, that’s the great thing ‘bout havin’ friends from all over. You get good food from everywhere. I think I like yours and G--… Uh, well, I mean, yours, Japanese and uh... German the best,” McCree stammers out. Hanzo immediately knows that wasn’t what the cowboy was going to say. He wonders slightly, but he won’t pry, not now at least. The cowboy hasn’t pried at him. It’s only respectful to return the favor.  
  
            “Perhaps I’ll have time to make two bento boxes tonight,” Hanzo suggests quietly, sipping water from his cup.  
  
            McCree nods. “I think that’d be rather nice of ya,” he says, giving Hanzo a sideways grin that makes Hanzo’s pulse quicken slightly.  
  
            “You’re welcome, then,” Hanzo murmurs into his cup, his eyes half-closed.  
  
            After a few moments of comfortable silence, McCree breaks it.  
  
            “You know, Hanzo, I really think that you should talk to Genji. At least, I think you should acknowledge that he’s back. I really think that it might—“  
  
            “No,” Hanzo says firmly, closing his eyes.  
  
            “Oh, come on, Hanzo, you—… You just take your time,” McCree says carefully. After that, he gets up, leaving Hanzo alone at the table once again.  
  
  
\------------------------  
  
            Later that evening, Hanzo walks back to his room, weary from practicing and putting on a strong façade. He begins to type his code into his door when his foot hits something. He looks down glaringly, picking up a small box. He carries it into his room after reengaging the locks on his door. Sitting on his bed, he opens the little brown package easily, pulling out tissue paper and packing peanuts.  
  
            He feels his heart stop when he sees the contents. A little jar with a sticky not on its lid sits nestled amidst the cushioning. Inside are colorful little star-like pieces. The label is a cute one, the lettering in his native Japanese. He pulls the sticky note off of the jar.  
  
            **_“Brother: I thought you would enjoy this. I ordered it for you in Nepal, thinking I would bring it back as a gift. I was too afraid to give it to you myself. Forgive me. I hope you enjoy it though. – Genji”_**  
  
            Hanzo stares at the note for a moment, clutching the little jar. A million thoughts are running through the elder Shimada’s head. He wants to throw the jar. He wants to yell. He wants to tear the note into little tiny pieces and pretend that this didn’t happen.  
  
            Instead of doing any of that, he sits on his bed, opening the small jar and popping one of the sugar crystals into his mouth. He waits until it melts to eat another one. Then another.  
  
            When the clock reads 3:00 a.m., Hanzo knows he needs to put the candy away and sleep. He does, storing the small jar in his drawer. As he lays down, he goes to sleep thinking about how much harder the salty tears are without the sugary taste in his mouth.  
  
  
\------------------------  
  
            _“Come on, Hanzo, share with me!” Genji, twelve, insists, tugging on his older brother’s sleeve._  
  
_“You got your gift and you ate it all!” Hanzo, fifteen, growls as he holds his jar of konpeito close._  
  
_“But you know I love it…” Genji whispers, his brows knitted together in sadness._  
  
_“Papa bought us both the same size jar, because we’re equals,” Hanzo says, plopping on the floor of his bedroom. Genji continues to pout, not understanding Hanzo’s point at all._  
  
_“Urgh. Okay, Genji, listen. You can’t always have instant gratification. You have to learn to be patient. It’s like your allowance. You always spend it all on the first day, then you want some of mine. That’s not the way it works, brother,” Hanzo explains._  
  
_Genji crosses his arms, looking away. “But you get more allowance anyway!” he whines._  
  
_“That’s because I’m older, Genji,” Hanzo huffs, popping a piece of the sugary candy into his mouth._  
  
_“I thought we were equals,” Genji grumbles, looking at the floor. Hanzo glances over at him, suddenly feeling bad. He figures that the candy isn’t worth Genji being sad, but he decides to make it work to his advantage._  
  
_“Okay, I’ll share. But no more asking for my allowance, okay? Learn how to save your own money. Agreed?” Hanzo offers._  
  
_Genji considers for a moment, and then he nods. “Fine, fine. I won’t ask anymore,” he says._  
  
_Hanzo dumps out a handful of the konpeito for Genji, then a handful for himself. He begins to eat his share, when Genji speaks up again._  
  
_“Hanzo? Your pile has more green. Trade me for blue?” he asks._  
  
_They all taste the same, but Hanzo understands anyway. He trades with Genji as they lay in the air-conditioned room, the late afternoon sun streaming across Hanzo’s floor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make this one a little bit longer this time. I'm actually kind of surprised at the support this has gotten? Like, thanks guys. I'll have more diverse character interaction in the next chapter as well; perhaps Hanzo learning a little bit more about McCree. As always, if you liked this, /TELL ME./ Come on, I don't bite. Seriously, support is what keeps me writing. I'm always looking to improve too, so suggestions are welcome.  
> And, on that note, follow me on tumblr @junkratical for updates about when I'll post the next chapter (and shitposting. lots of shitposting.)


	3. Chapter 3

_“Ey, wake up. Yeah, I see your eyes opening. I’m not stupid, vaquero,” the gruff voice jostles seventeen-year-old Jesse McCree from his stupor. His whole body feels like he’s been run through a washing machine. He’d think he had, but he’s not clean enough for that. The crusted blood from his probably broken nose is still there, and he can barely move his jaw. His eyes are swollen to the point of where he can hardly open them._  
  
_He refuses to speak, his shaggy hair covering most of his dirty face. He won’t look up at the interrogator, the man who beat him senseless when his gang abandoned him._  
  
_“Listen to me. Do you speak English? Hablas Inglés?” the man demands._  
  
_Jesse nods slowly, raising a shaky hand to rub at his nose. He manages to look up from beneath his cowboy hat, staring face to face with a dark-skinned man with a scarred face. Jesse’s hazy mind thinks about his origins. He speaks Spanish. Is he Afro-Latino…? Jesse has no clue, and he doesn’t have time to before the man snaps to catch his attention._  
  
_“You answer my questions, and I won’t kill you. What’s your name?”_  
  
_“Jesse McCree,” the Deadlock member whispers._  
  
_“Jesse, huh? Well, I assume you realize your little gang left you for dead, yeah?” he snorts._  
  
_Jesse feels like crying. He swallows hard, his throat dry. He’d give anything for some water. He nods as an answer to the man’s question._  
  
_“How old are you, Jesse?” the man asks._  
  
_Jesse takes a deep breath, holding back a flood of tears. A few manage to escape and run down his dirty face. “S-seventeen…”_  
  
_The man’s eyes widen slightly, his lips curling into something akin to a sneer. He crosses his arms and grinds his teeth for a moment. He clenches his fist, and Jesse flinches, ready for the man to strike him._  
  
_“Okay, Jesse…” the man squats down to where McCree is slumped on the floor. “I have a proposition for you, okay kid?”_  
  
_Jesse blinks, then nods._  
  
_“I’m Gabriel Reyes. I’m with Overwatch. I want you to be my apprentice. I want to recruit you. You can take that offer and learn under me. You’ll be comfortable. You’ll have a bed, a shower, food, and people who don’t want you dead surrounding you. Or, you can rot in prison for the rest of your sad life. It’s your choice. And you can think on it, but I’d sugges—“_  
  
_“I’ll do it… I’ll do it… Boss,” Jesse says, making Reyes’ expression soften as he helps his new recruit up._  
  
  
_\----------------------_  
  
            “Mornin’ everybody!” McCree’s voice rings across the breakfast table. Everyone responds in kind. Hanzo is seated beside Reinhardt this morning. The loud man is drinking some kind of black sludge; he calls it coffee, but Hanzo thinks it’s a poor excuse for any kind of drink, let alone coffee. Tracer sits across from Hanzo, talking a mile a minute about nothing in particular while McCree serves breakfast.  
  
            He cooked this morning, and Hanzo would never admit it, but he’s excited to taste this kind of cooking. It’s definitely… Something different.  
  
            “Alrighty, we’ve got us some scrambled eggs, some biscuits, some sausage gravy, some pork chops, ham, some fried potatoes, bacon…”  
  
            The list keeps on going, but Hanzo is too hungry to pay much attention anymore. He eats silently as Reinhardt tells stories from his youth. The entire table seems entertained by him, and Hanzo won’t lie; he’s entertained too. Reinhardt is vivid in his descriptions of the former Overwatch.  
  
            “It vas just vonderful….” The large soldier sighs, staring off. “So many good people. All of them, I loved all of them. Jack Morrison, oh I vish you could have met him, Genji! His sense of honor and community was just what we needed… It’s what we need now, too, you know. He was a good leader. An excellent man, he was. Oh, and Captain Amari vas one of my dearest friends. I think that our friend Hanzo vould have liked her! She vas a hell of a voman, I tell you!”  
  
            McCree says something that Hanzo misses, but it turns the heads of Winston, Tracer, Mercy, Mei, Zarya, and the Egyptian woman, Pharah, he thinks.  
  
            “You know how Reinhardt feels about that topic, Jesse,” Angela scolds, making Hanzo’s brow furrow.  
  
            “And you know how I feel about it too! You can’t just go and praise Morrison and Amari, then just forget about Gabe!” McCree yells, slamming his fist down like an angry child.  
  
            “Not at the table!” Winston demands.  
  
            “You know that it’s Reyes’ fault that all of this happened in the first place,” Pharah sniffs, shooting a glare at McCree.  
  
            Reinhardt rubs the back of his head. “Now, now, none of that! We know that Reyes was a good man too, it’s just hard to talk ab—“  
  
            “He was a traitor and a piece of shit! He’s the reason we’re in this situation!” Pharah argues, stamping her foot.  
  
            McCree gets up from the table, knocking his chair over in the process. Everyone remains quiet as Hanzo tries to figure out what in the hell just happened. Zenyatta, the omnic, is the first to speak.  
  
            “Perhaps we should put an early finish to our breakfast.”  
  
            Everyone nods in agreement except for Pharah, bitterly eating while the rest of the members begin to clean up their mess. McCree’s outburst has unsettled Hanzo’s stomach. He feels like vomiting, but has no real clue as to why. Perhaps it’s because he’s never seen the cowboy that angry before. It’s odd, he thinks. He’s seen McCree as gentle and dumb this whole time; like some kind of dog that has large eyes and wags its tail even when being yelled at.  
  
            “He’s losing his hearing,” Tracer interrupts his thoughts.  
  
            Hanzo blinks, seeming confused. “He?”  
  
            “Reinhardt,” the British woman elaborates, motioning to the large man who is gently picking McCree’s chair up off of the floor. “He won’t ever admit it, but he can’t hear too well anymore. That’s why he’s so loud. That, and he’s a big guy. He told me that he thinks you don’t really like him too much. He thinks he’s a bother to you.”  
  
            “No,” Hanzo says, instantly shaking his head. He feels bad for being unnerved by the German’s loudness now. “I like him. He is a good man. He is a friendly man. He has accepted me as part of his team, and I think of him fondly as well.”  
  
            “I think he’d be happy to know that,” Tracer hums as she puts her dish in the large sink.  
  
            Hanzo wonders about the outburst from McCree, but he keeps his mouth shut as he cleans the dishes with Tracer by his side.  
  
\----------------------  
  
            By lunch, no one has seen any sign of McCree. Hanzo stares at the two bento boxes he has, his face falling. He was excited to share a lunch with McCree, but without the cowboy, he’s left with a second lunch that has no use.  
  
            “He sometimes hikes out on the rocks near the ocean,” a soft voice comes from the door to the kitchen. Hanzo turns.  
  
            Mercy stands there, her arms crossed slightly. She’s in a light blue shirt and jeans, making her look far more casual than usual. Hanzo stares at her for a few moments, still not fully trusting her.  
  
            She sighs. “Gabriel Reyes was Jesse’s mentor. He was a good man, and he led Overwatch for some time… That was all before Jesse and I were part of Overwatch. But, Jack Morrison, he was given favor over Reyes. I suppose because he was a poster-boy of everything everyone loved. He was blonde and handsome. He was a farm boy who grew up to be someone great. He lived simply, but made his way as a soldier. They thought Reyes was too gruff. He didn’t come off well on camera. He argued and threatened reporters. He wasn’t the poster child that everyone wanted him to be.  
  
            And, I suppose Reyes got tired of always being second best. There was an accident at the Overwatch headquarters in Sweden. It was hard to tell what really happened, but there was an argument between Reyes and Morrison that got out of hand,” Mercy explained, tears filling her eyes. She swiped them away, continuing.  
  
            “They both died… A-and, they took more good people with them. They had been friends. They were almost like brothers, but… A-anyway, Jesse has never gotten over losing Reyes. He was more than a mentor to Jesse. He saved his life. He made him into a good person. When Jesse was a new recruit, he was hotheaded and angry. When he got too heated, Reyes hiked out to the rocks with him. They’d sit there for hours sometimes. He still likes to go there when he thinks no one’s paying attention.”  
  
            Hanzo is silent for more than a few moments. He doesn’t know how to reply to the sudden influx of information about McCree. He grimaces, nodding.  
  
            “Thank you, Doctor Ziegler,” he whispers, heading out of the compound.  
  
            Hanzo walks a good ways before he spots McCree on a flat rock that looks out over the ocean. He pulls himself up and over other rocks, finally managing to make it beside McCree. He says nothing, sitting down. McCree glances at the Shimada brother with a sad look, then he turns back towards the sea. Hanzo understands now. He passes McCree’s bento to him before taking out his own. McCree says nothing, but he eats. Hanzo enjoys the silence, sitting beside the cowboy. The waves and the seagulls are their background noise; the odd glance now and then is their conversation. When lunch is done, Hanzo begins to get up.  
  
            “Stay… Please,” McCree whispers.  
  
            Hanzo is slightly shocked, but he sits back down. He stays next to McCree until the cowboy rises, nearly an hour later. They walk back to the compound together. Hanzo doesn’t mind the fact that McCree’s hand brushes his more than once.  
  
\----------------------  
  
            By the time evening has fallen, McCree has definitely calmed down. Dinner is courtesy of Mei tonight, and Hanzo is eager to try her cooking. Different cuisines satisfy his longing for adventure, even as he’s still on the simple rock that is the Gibraltar watchpoint.  
  
            McCree sets the table, and then he sits beside Hanzo. This time, Hanzo is comforted by the cowboy’s presence beside him. Reinhardt sits across from him, beside Genji.  
  
            The fact that Hanzo is being forced to even look at the thing who uses his brother’s name puts a vile taste in his mouth. The thing doesn’t ever eat, even when it sits at the table. It sickens Hanzo. His hand shakes in anger as he grasps his glass. His jaw clenches slightly, and he swallows hard. It’s not worth it; he won’t get into a useless argument at the dinner table.  
  
            The thing talks with Genji’s voice, even if it is a twinge more robotic than his real brother’s. His elaborate hand movements when he tells stories are so terribly reminiscent of Hanzo’s childhood, when Genji was alive and well. His heart aches to interact with Genji again. If nothing else, he supposes that he should thank the thing for the gift. He’ll do it later, he thinks to himself.  
  
            McCree nudges Hanzo gently, earning a glare from the archer. His goofy grin eases Hanzo’s moodiness, but he goes back to eating. He’d rather not have the entire organization know that he’s getting somewhat closer to the cowboy. It hasn’t taken long for the man to grow on him, which worries Hanzo. He hasn’t really had a close friend in years. Hanzo has to admit, even if only to him, being comfortable around someone feels nice.  
  
            After dinner is over, Hanzo takes McCree by the shoulder, his tone and expression stern. Out of earshot of everyone else, he requests a favor from the cowboy.  
  
            “I would like to speak to you in private, in my quarters,” Hanzo informs him. Obviously, something about the request confuses the cowboy, because he looks dumbfounded.  
  
            “Huh?” he utters, his eyebrows raised.  
  
            “Are you dense? I asked to speak to you. Privately. In my room. I do not know how to make it more simple,” Hanzo growls, frustrated.  
  
            “Whoa there, I hear ya! It’s just not exactly what I expected. Not from you, I mean,” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his head beneath his hat.  
  
            Hanzo responds by beginning to walk towards his room. McCree stands still for a moment, then he takes the hint to follow. He stays close to Hanzo as the Shimada types his code into the door. He makes sure his fingers are too quick for the cowboy to see though. He puts his hand out to stop McCree.  
  
            “Before you enter my room, you will take off that ignorant hat,” he demands.  
  
            McCree sighs, rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on, Shimada… It’s my hat. Not a deadly weapon,” he snorts.  
  
            Hanzo crosses his arms, making it clear that he isn’t kidding. McCree complies, setting the hat on Hanzo’s nearly bare dresser.  
  
            “What’s the beef with my hat, huh?” McCree asks, studying the room slightly.  
  
            “It makes your face look dirty. The shadows don’t flatter your features,” Hanzo says nonchalantly.  
  
            McCree makes a face, his tanned cheeks colored with a pink tint. It makes his freckles more obvious. “Ah… Heh… O-Observant, aren’t you?” he stammers, rubbing the back of his head again. It seems to be a nervous habit.  
  
            “An archer has to be observant,” Hanzo answers simply, pulling two small cups out of his bedside drawer.  
  
            After a long, awkward silence, McCree breaks.  
  
            “What’s your deal? Huh? I gotta know. First, you act like I’m the scum of the earth, then you invite me to your room and compliment me? It doesn’t make no sense! I can’t figure you out. It’s drivin’ me up the damn wall!” McCree spills his entire feelings out, his face red.  
  
            Hanzo keeps his composure, offering a smug smile. “Deal? I have no clue what you mean, Jesse. I simply wanted to share some sake with you. I have interest in knowing more about the man that I consider a friend.”  
  
            McCree pauses again, obviously realizing that he just embarrassed himself more than he intended to. He takes a seat on Hanzo’s bed, keeping quiet until Hanzo hands him the cup full of sake. He sniffs it with interest.  
  
            “Just drink,” Hanzo chuckles, pouring a cup for himself.  
  
            “I’ve never had this stuff before,” he mumbles, glancing back at the archer.  
  
            “Ah, yes. You Americans prefer piss weak drinks. I’m well aware. What do you normally partake in then, Jesse? Beer?” Hanzo teases.  
  
            McCree seems to have been ruffled by that, raising his head. “I don’t drink too often anymore, actually. But when I do, I happen to like beer. Sue me, I guess. I also like a nice few shots of Jack Daniels now and again. Sometimes rum. Really, it just depends on my mood.”  
  
            “Jack Daniels?” Hanzo questions, his head tilted slightly.  
  
            McCree pauses his sip of sake to laugh out loud. “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me, Shimada! You haven’t heard of Jack Daniels? It’s whiskey,” the cowboy explains.  
  
            “If you like it, then I want to try it,” Hanzo tells him, gazing up from his cup. McCree gets that embarrassed look again, making Hanzo grin slightly. His smile doesn’t help the hot-under-the-collar cowboy.  
  
            “Yeah. I uh… Sometime, I’ll definitely get us a bottle,” he tells Hanzo with a gentle smile. Hanzo nods in response.  
  
            The two sit there in silence for a few minutes before Hanzo refills his own cup. He sniffs, offering the bottle to McCree.  
  
            “Nah, I’ve not finished what I got just yet,” McCree sighs. Hanzo shrugs, continuing to drink his sake quietly.  
  
\-----------  
  
            After about two hours and a bottle and a half of sake later, Hanzo is laughing at a tale from McCree.  
  
            “And you, god, you won’t believe it. She shot him right in the ass!” McCree snorted. Hanzo’s eyes widened, his face red.  
  
            “You’re lying! She did not!” Hanzo insisted.  
  
            “I’m not lying! It was the only way she could get him to take the damned flu shot!” McCree retorted, shaking his head as he laughed.  
  
            Hanzo lets out a genuine laugh, falling back on the floor. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, too drunk to be embarrassed about being drunk.  
  
            McCree suddenly appears over him, offering him a robotic hand. Hanzo takes it lightly, his brown eyes gazing up at the cowboy. He’s helped to his feet, stumbling a bit. He’s happy that McCree’s grip is strong enough to keep him steady.  
  
            “Okay, Hanzo… I think it’s time that you go to sleep, alright?” the cowboy suggests gently.  
  
            Hanzo pouts and shoves him lightly. “Do not treat me like a child, cowherd!” he barks. “I may be drunk, but I’m not stupid.”  
  
            “ ‘Course you’re not, darlin’. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”  
  
            “Do not give me stupid pet names. I am not your ‘darling,’ and I am not too drunk to handle myself!” Hanzo argues, stepping away and stumbling again. This was a mistake. He realizes that now, shaking his head. The anxious, rolling feeling in his stomach is back. It makes him ill.  
  
            “Hanzo?” McCree hums, touching his shoulder again. Hanzo shrugs away, looking like a frightened animal.  
  
            “Do not touch me!” he demands, stamping his foot. McCree pulls his hands away and gulps, nodding.  
  
            “Hey, okay, okay…. It’s fine. Listen, I think that I’ll just leave ya alone, okay? I had fun though. You’re a real card when you let loose, Hanzo. It’s nice to have a friend like you,” McCree says, his voice low and gentle. Hanzo feels his stomach knot even tighter.  
  
            Hanzo looks away slightly as McCree begins to leave. He bits his lip, wanting to find an excuse for him to stay. At the same time, he knows he should let him leave.  
  
            “Wait!” Hanzo says suddenly. McCree turns.  
  
            Hanzo offers him his hat. “Don’t forget this,” he says, meeting McCree’s eyes.  
  
            It seems like an eternity of staring back and forth before McCree takes his hat, his human hand brushing Hanzo’s. It makes the archer shiver, his throat dry and tight.  
  
            “Thanks, Hanzo. Sleep good, alright?” McCree says, putting his stupid hat on and tipping it. He leaves without another word.  
  
            Hanzo collapses on the bed, not even bothering to shower or turn the lights off. The hangover should be enough to scold him for letting himself get so close to the cowboy. No, he’s gotten close to Jesse. Jesse McCree.  
  
            Stupid name for a cowboy, he thinks as he drifts to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been very sick, so, long story short, I haven't felt like updating and editing the third chapter very much. I'm so sorry, guys. I'll try to keep my posting more regular, and to make up for my incompetence, I'm going to try to have another update this week. Thanks for the support, it means a lot. Please continue to, it really keeps me going and makes me feel better amidst hospital visits and such. As always, follow me on tumblr @junkratical or on twitter @hyveltishaith. Thanks. (✿´ ꒳ ` )

**Author's Note:**

> This took to long for me to finally post even though it's super short, sorry. Honestly there's not much to say about this chapter except for if you like it, tell me? I'll definitely be continuing it either way, because I have nothing better to procrastinate with.  
> Other than that, this work is dedicated to leftforbed because she's been encouraging me to keep writing it.  
> If you want more of my garbage writing and to be updated on when I'll be posting new chapters of this, follow my tumblr @junkratical ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )


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